Too Bad It Isn't True (English version)
by ParijanTaiyou
Summary: AU Help Me - Cuddy accidentally causes a secondary collapse and gets her leg stuck under a few tons of rubble.
1. Part One

_Hello everyone! _

_I'm back with a nice little two-shot - although I wrote it a long time ago, while the seventh season of the show was broadcast on TV (gosh, was that really three years ago?!) - that I translated into English last summer. It was originally divided into eight chapters, but they were WAY too short, some of them barely 1,000 words long actually (yeah, that short). Anyway, I'll publish the second and final part in a week.  
_

_Huuuge thanks to IHeartHouseCuddy for taking a look at the story beforehand :) I hope you guys will enjoy it!  
_

_I own neither House MD (I wish though. I wish.) nor the dialogues from the episode that I've included into this story._

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**Too Bad It Isn't True**

**Part One**

* * *

If House said there was someone, then there was someone.

House was always right, and Cuddy knew so.

She tried to focus in spite of the loud racket surrounding her, but she could not perceive the clang he had described.

The team of firemen walked away. When House turned to her, she realised she had been staring at him for a while. She opened her mouth to say the first thing that would cross her mind, but he turned on his heels and followed the paramedics. She noticed with a slight heartache that he had stopped paying attention to her. Because she had been pushing him away and keeping him at bay ceaselessly.

_Bang._

She did hear it this time.

"House!"

_Bang._

He did not turn to her, did not even slow down.

She had to go. There had to be someone.

"House!"

Screw it, she'd go alone.

She moved a few pieces of debris and found a tunnel leading down below the enormous pile of concrete. She switched on her torch and slithered in. Even though she was petite and flexible, moving forward remained difficult and tedious. The gravels scratched her palms, each tiny debris tumbling down made her tremble, and this annoying lock of hair dangling in front of her eyes had her puffing with exasperation. But she was making progress rather quickly.

The tunnel widened, opening up to a void spacious enough for her to sit up. She took a deep breath, tired already, and heard the clang once more, which motivated her. She braced herself to smash with a kick what used to be a door.

The ceiling collapsed when her foot broke into the window.

A few minutes later, when Cuddy regained consciousness, she did not know where she was. She was lying onto her back, her hands beside her head, palms facing the ceiling. The floor was uncomfortable and her ribs ached, the smell surrounding her was acrid. She remembered gradually what had happened and was thrown into a panic when she recalled the collapse. She wanted to scream and call out for help, but no sound emerged from her dry throat. She breathed deeply, attempted to calm down. She raised her arms and touched the ceiling, which she estimated being a foot and a half above her. Knowing she had some space above her reassured her. Her flashlight did not function anymore, but a thin ray of light made its way through a hole in the rubble. It was enough for her eyes to get progressively accustomed to the bleak darkness surrounding her. The cavity in which she was stuck had not completely collapsed, protected by a beam. In fact, she could even reach the tunnel. It was not as serious as she had thought.

Her relief ended brutally when she tried to move, her leg trapped under a heap of concrete. Pain radiated throughout her body, tearing a silent scream from her, suffering and terror coalescing.

No one knew she was there.

The loud sound of the secondary collapse had echoed across the whole site. House had barely noticed it, too busy examining a survivor to care.

"You know what day it is?"

"Sunday?" the man hesitated.

"Nope. That's the ER for you. Take him to a hospital!" he yelled to whoever would listen to him.

"Hey, did you hear that?" screamed a fireman. "Where was that from?"

"From the parking lot," said another voice. "No survivors there, must be a gas leak."

Several more victims passed by his eyes. Do you remember your name, what day of the week is it. House did not want to take a look at bleeding people and ask the same questions over and over again to gauge their mental state. Too common. Boring. He missed diagnosing already. He called Foreman to check on the crane operator.

"He's still in the ER, House," the neurologist replied. "We haven't had time to start a differential."

"Perfect! Let's start right now. Put me on speaker. What causes syncope?"

"Your guy's stable," Taub intervened. "The two dozen other patients –"

"Don't need to be diagnosed. They just need to be bandaged. What causes syncope?" House repeated.

"Vasovagal reaction," suggested Chase.

"Meningioma," Foreman added. "Sick sinus syndrome."

"Or you're wrong, and he just fell asleep," Taub contradicted him.

"How's he gonna sleep with fifty cups of coffee going through his veins?"

"Were you never a medical resident?"

House changed the topic, "I hear ten, eleven, and twelve. Where's Thirteen?"

"She's not here," Foreman answered. "And the answer to your next question is no. I don't know where she is."

"Do you have the answer to my question after that? Space-occupying lesion in his brain is most likely. MRI will prove I'm right."

"Or it'll just prove he suffered head trauma from the crash."

"Which we'd wanna find anyway. Two birds with one scan. Do it," the diagnostician ordered before he hung up.

He stuffed his phone inside of his pocket and his thoughts wandered towards Cuddy. Towards the look on her face when he had given her the book. Something was off, he was certain of it. A housewarming gift was not supposed to make her uncomfortable. It could only mean one thing. If she were breaking up with Lucas, then he had hope. He could win her back.

"Cuddy," he blurted out all of a sudden.

She had stayed behind him. She had called his name and he had ignored her. Where was she now?

If there were no men deployed at the parking lot, what could have caused the collapse?

His gaze swept across the place. No sign of Cuddy.

She had stayed alone.

Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, he limped to the parking lot as fast as he could and round the enormous heap of debris, shouting her name and hoping she'd answer.

She didn't.

Cuddy's hands travelled down her body, searching for wounds. Except for coagulated blood on the right side of her face and soreness everywhere from her toes to her scalp, she did not detect anything abnormal. With her fingertips, she explored the cell that held her prisoner. Her hand met a kind of pipe located above her head. She feared another collapse, but she had to try. Unfortunately, it was her only solution to reach out to the exterior world.

In case someone walked by.

In case House had noticed she was missing.

In case he still cared about her.

She had very little hope.

She banged her torch against the tube.

No collapse. Nothing moved.

She repeated her gesture, worrying that she could not hear another noise, apart from her heavy and hoarse breathing. Either there was nobody outside, or she simply couldn't hear them, and therefore they could not hear her back. Between these options, she could not decide which she preferred. She kept going, and eventually lost track of the time. Whether it had only been a few minutes or an hour – either way, an eternity – she had had time to think.

And the last thing she wanted to do when she was out of here, was getting married. She could not see herself getting old by Lucas' side. The mere thought of it made her feel nauseous. He was a decent guy, alright. He cooked for her and he played with her daughter. That was what she had been looking for; someone who was comfortable with her toddler. After all, she was getting old, and Rachel needed someone in her life other than a working mom and a nanny, a sort of father figure. But she had to stop lying to herself; she was bored out of her mind. She did not _love_ that man.

The only one she wanted to show up at that moment, was House. He would be capable of releasing her. Lucas would not. He would hold her hand, cry by her side and consider her dead already. House would do anything in his power, and even more than that, to save her. She trusted him blindly. He knew her better than anyone, better than Lucas did, he knew things about her that everybody else was ignorant of. Oddly enough, although she was a rather reserved person, the fact that she had no secrets for him was far from disturbing. In fact, it was quite reassuring.

Getting married was inconceivable. She could not abandon herself to another man.

She tried to convince herself that what she was feeling was only guilt, and not _something else._

"Cuddy!"

_House._

She believed she had hallucinated. House called her name once more. She wanted to scream, but her throat closed up, silencing her. She must have had inhaled too much dust.

Her torch hit the cylinder harder. He had to hear her, he could not give up on her!

Her heart was pounding in her ears. She strove to calm down, fearing she would bleed again. If the gash on her forehead opened, if her leg were bleeding under that pile of rubble, and no one came down to save her, she might never leave her cell.

Cuddy heard groans emanating from the tunnel. If she had had trouble to crawl down there, a man his size should be experiencing severe difficulties.

He fell a few inches away from her. She grasped his cane, tearing a surprised yelp from him.

"House," she rasped.

He directed the beam of his flashlight towards her face. It was her. The aggressive light blinded her and she clenched her eyes shut. He tried not to let his immense relief show and drew closer to her.

"You remember your name?"

His question confused her. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and he was treating her like any other victim? She coughed. Her throat was dry. House watched dust whirl before his lamp. She eventually answered.

"Lisa Cuddy."

She shivered at the faint sensation of his fingers on her face.

"Good. What day of the week is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Better still." His hands felt around her head, searching for signs of trauma, before he examined her body, down and back up her arms and eventually moving across her torso. His touch felt distant to her. He had not reached her right leg yet when he told her she was fine. "I don't feel any broken bones. You got lucky. I'm gonna try and get you out of here."

"We can't, House."

"Why? You wanna stay down here? It sure looks cosy, but it could be dangerous."

She smirked in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "My leg is trapped."

"The right one?"

She nodded. He laid a hand on her thigh. Cuddy could not feel a thing through his hands. To him, she was just another victim amongst many others. She had thought he had come all the way down there because he had been worried about her, but it did not make any sense. Maybe he had been sent to the parking lot and he had followed her noises without knowing she was stuck there, or he had sneaked off because the clangs he had heard were bugging him. She did not feel special to him anymore. Did not feel like she meant anything at all. Although she had spent the last few months keeping him at arm's length, it saddened her to observe that she had succeeded.

His hand slid along her limb and hit concrete before he reached her calf.

"Is there a lot of rubble above us?" she asked then.

"Don't know. I didn't pay attention."

"Well, they must have started to remove everything."

"No, there's no one here."

Maybe he did care about her. It curiously reassured her more than knowing there were people above her doing their best to free her.

"I'm gonna go get some help. I'll be right back," he promised.

She acquiesced silently. He crawled back into the tunnel. Cuddy was left alone in the dark.

She realised with horror that she had not heard the clangs since the collapse she had caused. There was someone, and she had killed that person.

She hoped House would be back soon.

But he had not come back at all. Other firemen had waltzed in, briefly informed her about her situation – there were a few tons of rubble above her and they would do their best to remove it as soon as possible, in the meantime an EMT was going to proceed to an examination but apart from her leg, she looked alright.

Indeed, House had chosen to focus on other victims who needed him more than she did. Cuddy was in good hands.

But that was only what he was trying to convince himself of. While he had been trying to become a better man and a responsible adult for her, even to accept her relationship with Lucas and the fact that she did not want him, being so close to her and touching her to evaluate her state had been torturous; there _was _tension between them. They had incessantly been hiding behind words left unsaid and avoiding each other for the past year. She had ignored this tension and he had tolerated it, which eventually led to this complicated aspect of their relationship which they did not know how to handle. Besides, lately, their awkwardness had reached a peak. And in barely a minute, all his efforts to remain detached had been shattered. He was incredibly relieved to have found her, and yet terribly scared of watching her die. She was in a dangerous position. He was aware that it would take hours to clear enough debris to free her leg, if her wound did not turn out to be fatal in the meantime.

He was terrified. And he could not expose the both of them to emotions that he could not control.

He was examining yet another victim when a paramedic came to find him.

"We've got a problem with Doctor Cuddy."

"I've got a problem with this guy," House dismissed him. _She was in good hands._ "A building collapsed on his head, can you imagine?"

What's-his-name ignored him and carried on, "We're having trouble finding a vein for her IV."

Maybe she was not in such good hands after all. "'She getting weaker? Paler?" he asked.

"No, no. She's stable."

"That means her blood loss is minimal," he concluded. There was not much of a problem. They could handle it. "Buys us some time. Get the IV into her tibia. It's almost hollow, feeds into the venous system," he explained. What's-his-name replied with a confused silence. "Which they don't teach you in EMT school," House continued in an appalled tone. He could not leave her with these idiots just because he was scared. _Time to man up_, he thought. He gave his stethoscope to some guy walking past and headed towards the parking lot, a first aid kit tucked under his arm.

The rumble of the numerous saws created a deafening and unpleasant background noise, its only silver lining being that it was going to help Cuddy, and the other victims trapped under the pile of concrete. House threaded his way into the tunnel, which was lit up by lamps plugged to a generator. Cuddy was surrounded by three men who were striving to remove the debris. They communicated by yelling words which where more or less understandable. Cuddy seemed calm. Whether she was exhausted or lost in her thoughts, House did not know.

"Told you I'd be back." She turned to him hearing his voice so close to her. Judging by her smile, she was glad to see him. He sat down beside her. "Nowadays, no one knows how to find a vein or how to insert a catheter into a bone anymore. Unbelievable, right?" he said while extracting her elegant leg from her dark blue overalls, before ripping a hole in her pale pink scrubs. "Anyway, how 'you doing?"

"Fine, fine."

He opened the kit, grabbed a needle and cleaned a spot on her calf before he warned her, "Little pinch." The needle pierced through the bone. Cuddy barely muffled her yelp of pain. "Okay, big pinch," he admitted, a little sheepishly. He hanged the IV bag on a metal rod protruding from a block of concrete. Turning to the dean, he saw the trail of blood drying on the side of her face, which he had felt in the darkness earlier. She was staring into his eyes. He took a piece of gauze from the kit, soaked it with water and rubbed her face delicately, his thumb accidentally dropping to her lips. His gestures felt sweeter this time, almost comforting and affectionate. Cuddy closed her eyes, lulled by his caress. She let out a little disappointed sigh when his fingers left her now clean skin, lifted her eyelids and met his blue gaze once again. They stared into each other's eyes, into each other's souls. Cuddy could read anguish in his eyes, as well as pain, fear, barely repressed tenderness... and love? No, she had to be wrong. But the way he'd look at her was peculiar.

He looked down first.

"House." She rested her hand on his arm. "Would you be my doctor, for once?"

He could not say yes. If he were emotionally involved, he would never be able to make the right decisions. Too dangerous. It could cost her her life. "Don't know. Depends on the ducklings."

Once again, he was running away from her, she realised. "Don't tell me you really had the operator brought to Plainsboro."

"I really had the operator brought to Plainsboro."

She exhaled. "You have four doctors who would be more useful in the ER –"

"And I would be more useful at the hospital!" he snapped, involuntarily.

House saw her scowl. He immediately regretted his words.

"Fine. I'm not holding you back, you know."

She turned away, sulking. He touched her arm. "That's not what I meant..." he tried. His phone rang, unconveniently. When he saw it was his team calling, he had no choice but to pick up. "Talk."

Foreman answered, "The MRI was clean, but afterwards, he started bleeding out of his eyes and nose."

"So there was something wrong before the collapse."

"Unless it's just conjunctive coagulopathy from the trauma," Taub said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you don't think he was sick before. We get it! You're wrong."

"Brain infection?" Chase suggested.

"Sorry I'm late," Thirteen interrupted, having just walked in.

"Where were you?"

"Physical therapy. I left my phone in my locker."

"The infection causes neurological symptoms, goes systemic," Chase continued. "and D.I.C. causes the bleed."

"Good theory. Except for the part that there's no fever. Get an X-ray venogram. See if you can find a reason for your existence. Also look for venous sinus thrombosis."

"Would have seen it on the MRI."

"Not if you were too busy not looking for it."

"We should X-ray for a facial fracture first," Thirteen advised. "This could all be simple trauma."

"Just do what I tell you. Be back in ten minutes."

He hung up, having finally made his decision. He could not remain by Cuddy's side, especially now that she had asked him to be her doctor and look after her. One of them was going to get hurt, if not both.

"You're leaving?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"There's a dozen people here who can save you. I'm apparently the only one who can save this other guy. I'll see you in the ER."

He turned away without even glancing back. "House!"

She watched him disappear and felt her heart pound as soon as he was gone. She did her best to calm down, taking deep breaths. He had to come back. He could not abandon her. Even though she was scared to admit it, she needed him. The night before, when Lucas had knelt in front of her, the first thing to cross her mind had been, _What is House going to say? How am I going to tell him? Would he have proposed?_

She had stupidly said yes, as if he had only asked her how she was, without even thinking about it. She had regretted her words as soon as they had left her lips. A little part of her had been hoping that House would fight for her. That he would not let Lucas take her away from him. She had feigned happiness. She had smiled to Lucas, had let him embrace her in his tiny, feeble arms, but it had only made her more uneasy. She did not belong with him.

House had to come back. She had to tell him everything. That she did not want to get married, that she wanted him, she loved him. _Yes_, she loved him. After all this time, she finally accepted the feelings she could not suppress anymore.

And he was _gone_.

He had left her and she was terrified that she'd never be able to tell him.

House had just reached his bike when a fireman – Captain McCreaney – caught up with him.

"Doctor House!"

_Fuck._

Oh, he knew him. It was the lazy asshole who had refused to look further into the clangs he had heard. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, barely hiding his weariness.

"It's Doctor Cuddy. She's having a panic attack, she can't breathe," the fire chief explained.

"So calm her down," he shrugged as offhandedly as he could. It did not take a doctor to ease a patient down from a panic attack.

"She wants to see you."

"I'm flattered," House deadpanned. "Give her oxygen." Maybe it did take a doctor.

"We're not letting O2 down there. It could explode. You have to go back," he insisted. "She needs you!"

House hesitated. He could not leave her alone, panic attack or not. He was not able to control the sentiments that flooded his little heart of stone anymore, and he had to admit he was scared to death. If it reassured her to have him by her side, it would reassure him too, after all. He would be near her. Near enough to not let anything happen to her.

He killed the engine and limped back to Cuddy. He threaded his way back below the rubble and saw her chest lift up and down heavily, her hands covering part of her face. When she turned to see who the visitor was and she recognized him, tears rushed up to her eyes. He sat beside her. "Hey. Deep breaths." She tried to pronounce his name, but her own sobs choked her. "Don't try to talk. Just breathe." She did as he was told. He nodded encouragingly as she calmed down gradually.

"You came back because I freaked out?" she asked once she had regained a sufficient grip on herself.

He shook his head. "Oh, no. I just realised how big and scary the world is, and how cozy and safe this little place is." The rumbles of the saw were now above them. They were alone in the void. "Keep breathing," he whispered, taking her hand. She exhaled slowly. "Nice," he smiled slightly.

"Thanks, House." She tightened her grip on his hand and offered him a weak smile, which he returned, glad to see her lips stretch the tiniest bit. While she was considering how to break the news to him, he let go of her and half-heartedly dug in his pocket, retrieving his cell phone.

"I assume you want to call Lucas."

_Now or never._

She acquiesced with a timid nod. She dialled the number which she had trouble remembering and pressed the green button. Lucas answered shortly.

"Lucas, I... I..."

The detective was freaking out. He was telling her that her voice sounded weird and she seemed exhausted. He was always worried about her. Cuddy had thought it was the proof that he wanted to take good care of her but, in the end, she could not stand him treating her like a child.

"Shut up and let me speak." She turned to House, as though to find courage. His glance was focused everywhere, except on her. "I don't want to marry you."

The diagnostician turned to her, doubly surprised; not only had Lucas proposed, she was also turning him down. _That was why she had seemed so uncomfortable. _Their eyes met and did not let go.

"No, I am not having an affair with him! And, no, he did not manipulate me, I am capable of thinking on my own dammit!" she snapped. "I am calling from his cell because I'm trapped under a few tons of concrete, so you'll excuse me for being such a coward!" House thought she looked beautiful when she was angry. "You take your ring from my office drawer, your stuff from my house, and you stop behaving like a child! It's over, Lucas!"

Furiously, she slid his phone shut, gave it back to House who was intently staring at her, and let out a sigh of relief.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, dumbfounded. She was finally obtaining the life she had always wanted; a dream job, an adorable daughter, a nice husband, and she was throwing it away.

The phone rang again. Lucas.

"Don't pick up," she advised him.

"No."

He ignored the call and sent it to voicemail. She gulped. Even though the way he'd look at her was more than encouraging, she was scared to take the plunge. If he rejected her, she would not be able to bear it.

"Cuddy, why did you do that?"

Why would he reject her? She exhaled slowly and shook her head.

"I'm stuck, House. I keep wanting to move forward, I keep wanting to move on, and I can't. I'm... All I can think about is you... And..."

She felt hot tears dwell up in her eyes. House laid a hand on her shoulder, his doctor reflexes taking over.

"You need to calm down, Cuddy." She shot him a confused look. She was admitting her feelings to him and he told her to _calm down_? "Your BP is spiking, so you're bleeding faster from your leg wound."

"God, House! I couldn't give a crap about bleeding!" she yelled at last. "I love you!"

Wordlessly and in a daze, he stared at her for a moment. He could not quite believe what he had just heard. She knew she should have handled it with kid gloves. It was House, after all. And now she was crying harder, because she was convinced that he did not want her, until she felt a thumb rub her skin delicately to wipe away one of her tears. House leant towards her, her heart pounding so hard she believed she was going to faint. They shared a shy smile, before he laid his lips on her own. He let out a tiny sigh as their swollen flesh caressed one another tenderly. Cuddy felt his breath die warmly against her lips and moaned back. Kissing him at last felt truly heady – and she sensed that it was mutual. Her tongue peeked out between her lips and met his own as they shared an almost indecently slow kiss.

Reluctantly, they pulled away when they heard someone coming down.

He did not tell her he loved her. She did not ask because she already knew. The way he gazed at her, touched her, everything screamed it to her.

"Having fun?" House asked McCreaney, who looked rather discouraged. The diagnostician grabbed Cuddy's hand, unconsciously; he did feel her warmth though.

"Three dead in an hour, it's one hell of a party," the fire chief hissed before recovering his professionalism. "The way things fell, this support beam," he explained, pointing at the beam that had probably saved Cuddy's life. "is now holding up a giant pile of rubble. We can't lift it without jeopardizing everyone down here. So it's time to discuss amputation."

Terrified by this prospect, Cuddy gripped House's hand convulsively. The diagnostician remained silent for a few seconds, before he stepped up and asserted, more determined than ever, "We are not cutting off her leg."

McCreaney sighed. This was going to be tricky. "Look, she's been down here almost two hours. By the time we clear away the rubble –"

"We don't have to rush through this to make your job easier," he snapped.

"'You kidding me? We leave the leg pinned, we're risking crush syndrome. Her leg isn't getting enough circulation, the muscles die and release poisons. If we free her leg, we –"

"I know, I'm a fucking doctor," House interrupted him harshly. "If we free her leg, the potassium, myoglobin and so on, rush back into her system and it could stop her heart. I know. You're going to get your lazy friends to start moving that pile. She's got two more hours before crush syndrome could possibly set in."

"It's not just crush syndrome we gotta worry about, okay? There's gas leaks. There's fire. We can never rule out secondary collapses, no matter how much we shore this thing up."

"You think chopping off someone's limb inside a pile of dirty rocks is safe? Sepsis, fat embolism, a hemorrhage."

"Those risks are nothing compared to the risk of this thing coming down again."

Cuddy finally intervened, "Captain, he's a jerk, but he knows what he's doing and I trust him. Give it a couple more hours. Please."

"Fine," McCreaney yielded after a short hesitation. "But I can't guarantee I can get ten tons of debris pulled off in two hours." He crawled into the tunnel and left the couple alone.

"Thanks," House said. "Can't even imagine where he learned to do his job. Idiot."

She should be scared. Terrified, even. She had ceased to feel anything below her knee for a while now. If they did manage to pull her out, she would be facing broken bones, hours of surgery, nerve injuries that might take years to heal, probably an amputation anyway, months of physical therapy. Her life would never be the same without her right leg. It would be crippling, there are things she would never do again – such as wearing skirts, as silly as it sounded – and it would take her time to get over the absence of tissue below her knee. She knew she was going to lose her limb, and yet she felt at peace. House was with her and he loved her back. It was enough for now. They were invincible.

He lay down on his flank beside her, never letting go of her hand, and rested his own on her stomach.

"You think they'll manage to clear everything in two hours?" she asked.

"They'll have to. I'm not letting them chop off your leg."

"I don't care about my leg, House. I want to get out!"

"You'll get out," he reassured her.

He briefly thought that he had rarely been supporting her. It was usually the other way around. Although he was not used to it, it felt natural. He did not have to think about what he could possibly tell her.

"Yeah... " She sighed. "And to say that I have to face death to... admit my feelings to you... And I've hurt you so much..."

She began to cry again.

"What did I tell you about your blood pressure?"

"Forgive me..." she whispered.

He could not give a damn about what she had done to him. About all the harsh things she had said and things she had done to keep him at bay. About the many sleepless nights he had spent just thinking about her. He had her now, it was all that mattered.

"Always."

He kissed her forehead. Cuddy blinked back her tears.

"What are we going to do when I'm out of here?"

She feared that her question would suggest they were a couple and scare House away. She was afraid as well, but she wanted to take a chance. At present she was sure of it, she wanted a real relationship with him, no matter how complicated and painful it was shaping up to be.

He frowned. "We're gonna go to the hospital, obviously."

"Yeah, but what about afterwards?"

"We'll see."

"I'd like to give us a chance."

"We will," he promised.

She smiled. They kissed once more, sealing their fragile agreement.

Half an hour passed by. McCreaney had come back with his equipment, hoping to be able to lift the rubble trapping Cuddy's leg.

"Put the cribbing in there," he told the diagnostician, who had, of course, volunteered to help. House did so and placed the piece of wood below the pile of debris, squeezing her thigh briefly.

"When the beam starts lifting, you're gonna feel pain," he told her, stroking her forehead.

"I know. But keep talking, it reassures me a little." She strove to dissimulate the fact that she was going to fall apart. She was seconds away from getting out of this hellhole – although she knew it would not work for sure, she could not help getting excited – and yet she was terrified of the pain, which she knew was going to be the most intense she had ever felt in her life. She just wanted to get this over with.

"Well... It's gonna be like your foot's gone to sleep, times a billion. You'll notice that it's nowhere near reassuring."

He managed to tear a smile from her lips in spite of the gravity of the situation.

"All right, we're ready," McCreaney informed them. House glanced down at Cuddy for her approval and nodded.

The fire chief started the engine and the airbag began to swell slowly. Cuddy growled when she _felt_ her leg, her limb jolting with pain. This inert thing at the end of her thigh reminded her harshly of its presence. Pain like she had never felt before surged through her entire leg and she thought she might pass out. _But she was going to get out._

"I'm feeling the pain already," she groaned.

"That's good," she heard House say. "That means the pressure's coming off."

He seized her leg and attempted to pull it out cautiously, with the fire chief's help. Cuddy had to bite her lips in order to muffle her screams.

The walls began to shake. Pieces of rubble that were more or less big rained around them, along with a loud noise that made even him tremble. Anticipating another collapse, House lay above Cuddy and covered her, protecting her as best as he could. She wrapped her arm around his waist, bringing him closer to her.

And then, nothing.

House was awoken by a rapid and warm breath tickling his skin. He painfully lifted his eyelids. The lights had given out. They were surrounded by darkness.

"Cuddy. Cuddy!"

He sat up, not in the least worried about his own state, and felt a large piece of concrete slide from his shoulder and to the ground. McCreaney regained consciousness as well.

"I think the adjacent beam snapped during the lift," he muttered groggily. He switched his walkie-talkie on. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! We had a secondary collapse. We're all right. How are you guys?"

As she heard through the radio that the main tunnel hadn't collapsed, Cuddy felt House's head rest briefly on her irregularly lifting chest. She was recovering her senses painfully, especially her pinned leg. But that wasn't going to be a problem anymore, as lack of oxygen dragged her into unconsciousness. Panic surged through her. She felt herself drift away, though she struggled with all her might. She wanted to stay!

"No breath sounds on the left side. Tension pneumothorax," House announced. "Kit. Gimme the kit."

He was not going to let her go.

An empty syringe was jabbed between two of her ribs. Her collapsed lung was reinflated instantly as she was shaken by a spasm of relief. Her gasping breath slowed down. She could breathe.

"You better get back up top and make sure you didn't nick an artery," the fire chief advised to House.

The diagnostician palpated his own shoulder. His fingers were soaked with blood but he did not feel the pain. Yet.

"I'll be right back," he told Cuddy, and made sure she nodded before leaving the concrete cell.

While a nurse was bandaging his open wound, he pondered about Cuddy. They could not have remained unconscious for more than a few minutes, but McCreaney was going to remind him soon that the two extra hours had passed by. The secondary collapse did not augur well. She might be trapped under even more rubble. They would not have time to pull Cuddy out before she risked crush syndrome. Amputation was the only solution, although he was resolutely opposed to it. To chop off a limb was a definitive and crippling outcome. He did not want her to become like him. He refused the idea itself of her suffering. And if she did not survive it whereas he could have tried something else, he would never forgive himself.

"Shoulder's not dislocated, no fracture. It's only a cut but I'll have to stitch it up. You're lucky this isn't worse."

"You know who's even luckier?" he snapped. He did not have time or patience for small talk. "You and just about every other human being who wasn't down there." He heard his phone ring in his pocket and hurried to pick it up. "What did the venogram say?"

"Clean. Now the guy's starting to spike a fever."

"Subarachnoid bleed," Taub suggested.

"Meningitis?"

"He didn't say his neck was sore," Chase contradicted Foreman.

"That's 'cause everything's sore. He just took a fifteen-story swan dive into concrete. Do an LP."

"We also have to consider other infections."

"So you're suggesting we do an LP."

"I guess I am."

"Genius."

He hung up. The nurse had barely applied the piece of gauze to his skin when he readjusted his leather jacket and limped straight to the parking lot, ignoring the pain in his leg that was verging on unbearable. The lamps had been installed again when he threaded his way to Cuddy, who was talking with McCreaney. He did not hear what the fire chief was saying, but he had already guessed.

"House," she called out in a weak voice as soon as she saw him.

He felt his throat tighten. He could _hear_ her fear in her voice. He rushed to her side and grabbed her hand, stroking her forehead darkened with dust.

"Because of the collapse, we can't try the airbag again until we get everything off the top," McCreaney explained. "Be five, six hours at least. Gotta amputate now."

"No," he refused firmly, not even glancing up at him.

"It's been four hours already. It used to be a long shot, now it's just plain crazy."

His thoughts were crossing his mind at a thousand miles an hour. "Crush syndrome is basically a buildup of potassium. If we remove potassium–"

"We're already treating with sodium bicarbonate," the fire chief reminded him, pointing at her IV.

"But not with glucose and insulin. We have glucose in the kit. There's gotta be a diabetic somewhere."

"You wanna dose the insulin here, in a non-hospital setting? It's not worth–"

Once again, Cuddy had listened to them without a word. Once again, she had to interrupt them, "Captain, could you give us a minute?"

She had given him her agreement for the amputation. He trusted she'd be able to convince this mad scientist. He crawled up the tunnel. Cuddy let a few seconds go by before she spoke up.

"I don't want you to risk my life, House. I need to get out of here."

"Let me think."

He could see the anguish in her eyes, the scrapes on her face and her leg trapped under the concrete. He did not want her to become him, and that's what would happen should crush syndrome set in. If she survived, if they managed to pull her out, the dead muscles in her leg would lead to a thick, ugly scar and intolerable pain for the rest of her life. She would end up exactly like him and it would break her. He thought of how he could not handle the pain on the first days, all the things he could not do anymore, all the loved ones he had pushed away, drugs, the countless nights he had spent wide awake because it hurt too much to sleep. He imagined what raising a child in his state would be like. He did not want that for her.

He caressed her cheek. Cuddy leaned into his touch and let him cradle her face into his palm, kissing his thumb softly.

He needed to ratiociate as though she were any other patient. Cutting her leg off was the only sound solution he could come up with. It seemed much safer. At least, it would be over for good, and she would get out knowing she would watch her daughter grow up. She had been trapped there, scared and alone, for way too much time already. Leaving her there a few more hours, hoping that crush syndrome would magically not set in and that the firemen would not come across any more difficulties, was indeed plain crazy. No matter how much he tried, she was going to get out of her cell damaged. His role was now to make sure that she would get out alive.

He did not want to make that choice, but it was going to save her.

"Okay."

He tried to smile to her, but his lips refused to obey. He was even more scared than she was. Even though cutting off her leg was the best solution they had, it was still risky. She had not pulled through this yet.

She took his hand that had remained on her face and pressed his knuckles to her lips. He was not used to such tenderness. It should have made him uncomfortable, and yet he was surprised to realise that he needed it.

A moment later, McCreaney was back into the cavity.

"So?"

House gave him a nod before he added, "Go get us a doctor."

"I'm 'fraid you're the only one here," McCreaney admitted sheepishly.

House thought that the ceiling was crushing him. Or that he was freefalling. Probably both.

"What do you mean, the only one? Where are all the others?"

"Most of them are still busy around the crane. We've pulled a lot of victims out, some of them've all taken them to Plainsboro and Princeton General. When they're back, it could be too late."

"You mean there is no one currently able to amputate a limb here? What the fuck?" he yelled. "How the fuck does this happen?"

Cuddy grabbed his arm, tears pooling in her eyes.

"House! Please... I don't want to die..."

He did not want her to die either.

And he did not have a choice anymore.

Although he was practically dying with dread, he gave his reluctant agreement to McCreaney.

* * *

_TBC..._


	2. Part Two

_Hello everyone!_

_Thank you so much for your reviews, and for adding the story to your favourites and/or following it! I means a huge deal to me :) here is the second and final part. I've added some musical recommendations - you can find them all on YouTube._

_Sadly I still do not own the show, nor the dialogues and lyrics I've included._

* * *

**Part Two**

* * *

_Un Amico – Ennio Morricone_

A few minutes later, House was staring at his tools wordlessly. He had removed his leather jacket and swallowed a few ibuprofen pills. The more time went by, the more he was convinced of the necessity of the surgery, and the less he felt capable of accomplishing it.

"House, talk to me."

What was he going to tell her? That he could not put her out because it would depress her respiration too much? She already knew it. The only thing he could give her was local anaesthetics. Which would not be enough. At all.

She took his blue-gloved hand in her own and squeezed it. It had to be done. He had to save her life. Finding a little courage in her touch, House took out a scalpel as well as a piece of gauze from the kit, which he applied just below her knee, as close to the block of rubble as possible, in order to save as much tissue as he could. Cuddy bit her lip so as to muffle her scream of pain while the piece of steel cut through her flesh and around her bone, blood dripping from the wound. On one hand, House was relieved not to hear her because otherwise he would never be able to saw her bones, but on the other hand, he did not want her to inflict on herself more torment than the surgery would cause her. House sliced through her skin and muscles, the sight of her bare bones and her blood on his hands making him slightly dizzy. He grabbed his electrical saw but didn't dare turn it on. He thought of what Cuddy was going to endure. Bone pain was the worst there was. It would be merciless. Even if he hurried as much as possible, it would last too long.

"Do it."

She was breathless and her voice trailed off. He did not glance at her, fearing to see her pain distorting her features. He switched his saw on, and took a deep breath before he began to cut off the bare ivory, so that he'd save her. So that she'd _live_.

Cuddy did not hold back her screams. It was not pain, it was worse. It felt as though each single one of her cells were revolting. As though she were breaking away from a carcass that was desperately gripping at her. She felt it _everywhere_ in her body and there was no escape. House was focusing on his task, striving not to let himself be distracted. He had to finish this, as quickly as possible, even though the almost inhuman screams that echoed across the cavity were caused by his own hands. Focus,_ just fucking focus!_

At last, it was over.

He turned the tool off. Calmly put it down. Did not dare glance at the bloody ivory. Preferred not to hear Cuddy's moans. Detached himself from the scene.

A few EMTs picked her up. They placed her trembling body on a gurney, before taking her out of the cell.

She had pulled through it.

House stared at the pool of fresh blood in front of him and angrily threw his pair of gloves away. He thanked the first god that crossed his mind – it happened to be Zeus – and followed the paramedics, forgetting his cane, before hopping into the ambulance and sitting beside Cuddy; beside her head so that he would not be forced to see her stump, although it was wrapped in fabric to avoid her bleeding out before they admitted her into the ER. An attendant, whom House had not met yet but who seemed rather competent, settled across from him.

He took Cuddy's hand, who smiled behind her oxygen mask even though she was exhausted. He managed to reciprocate it a little. He thought of what was ahead of them, and an unusual and unexpected feeling of joy surged through him. Maybe that he was naïve and their couple wouldn't last, but he wanted to try. He wanted to take care of her. He'd clean her wound in the OR, and look after her during her physical therapy. And after that, they'd live.

She gazed into his eyes, and she felt at peace. It was over, and she was alive.

His phone rang, interrupting the contemplation of his future.

"What?"

"He's fallen into a coma," Foreman answered in a much less aggressive tone. "LP was clean, but..."

"What are his vitals?"

"Excuse me, officer," he heard Taub say.

"What do you mean, 'officer'? How long has there been a cop there?"

"I don't know, ten minutes. He was being questioned when he fell into the coma."

"Was anything else making him nervous or worried before his other symptoms?"

"He was claustrophobic right before the bleed and before the fever we told him that he probably did fall asleep."

"Was his BP spiking?"

Cuddy loved witnessing his differentials. It was almost an art. Amazingly, she could read his passion for medicine and the puzzles in his features. But what she liked the most, was the little senseless patterns he'd draw unconsciously on her hand while he was lost in his thoughts.

"But that didn't cause his first symptom."

"Yeah, it did. All the caffeine. We thought the problem was in his toilet – by that, of course, I mean his head. Which distracted us from the fact that it could have been just a clog in his sewer pipe, and by that, of course, I mean his spinal cord. And blah, blah, blah, blah. You get the idea."

"An arachnoid cyst on his lower spine," Chase concluded. "That's why we missed it. He's been sitting ten hours a day. Spiked his spinal fluid pressure."

"Run a CT –"

Her fingers tightened their grip on his own. The monitor was screaming for her as her heart beat and beat faster and she was struggling to breathe.

"BP's seventy-two over forty-two," the paramedic informed him.

He immediately diagnosed a circulatory shock. House hung up, threw his phone away somewhere, and grabbed a stethoscope, listening carefully to her chest. "Breath sounds bilaterally, it's not another pneumothorax." He felt her neck as he mentally eliminated causes. "Neck veins flat. There's no tamponade." He had an idea. "It's a clot in her lung. IV streptokinase," he demanded. A pulmonary embolism fitted with her symptoms. It was only a small complication, which would be solved quickly. His colleague gave him a syringe. House injected the protein into the catheter that was nestled into her tibia. His action was going to aggravate the haemorrhage, but he would take care of it afterwards. The priority was to dissolve the blood clot stuck in her pulmonary artery and allow her to breathe normally.

House frowned when that did not happen. Her blood pressure remained low and she was still panting desperately. It _was_ an embolism, he knew it was, but _why wasn't it working? _

Cuddy knew. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. She knew she was not going to make it to the hospital, and she wanted to spend the last few seconds of her life with him, not watching him bustle around.

House's thoughts rushed through his head at the speed of light. If she were still wheezing, then it was not a blood clot. If it were not a blood clot, what could it be?

_Fat embolism._

There was _no_ solution. He couldn't do anything, except for letting her die as her bone marrow spread into her blood flow and poisoned her. He could give her as many drugs and as much oxygen as he wanted, nothing could stop her marrow from obstructing her blood vessels and ultimately suffocating her.

He squeezed her hand, at a loss for words. What could he tell her? Not to be scared? Of course she was scared, she was dying! He had to tell her something. He could not let her leave just like that.

Her loud pants eventually came to a stop. She stared into his eyes, and he looked so heartbroken and terrified that she wished she could tell him not to be afraid. She poured all her love for him into her gaze and gave in. House saw her close her resigned and exhausted eyes as she weakly caressed his hand with her fingertips one last time.

His own heart skipped a beat when the monitor emitted a continuous beep. He had hoped until the last second, but it had happened for real.

She had died because of him.

Foreman ran through the ER and to the ambulance waiting area. He had been told about the arrival of a recently leg-amputated patient. They had to take her to the OR as fast as possible. The surgeon was already waiting. They did not want that patient to bleed out in a waiting room before they could repair the wound.

The neurologist opened the doors of the vehicle.

What he had not been told about, was that the patient had died en route.

And that her name was Lisa Cuddy.

* * *

"We're going to have to take her, House."

Foreman's calm voice made him jump. He had stayed in the ambulance alone with her for more than fifteen minutes, just staring at her pale face. The lights were off, a bereaved darkness surrounding him.

"Just a few more minutes," he demanded weakly.

The neurologist walked away. House mentally thanked him; he needed to be alone with her. He caressed Cuddy's cold forehead and rested his lips there, thinking that maybe he could warm it up and she'd awake. But it did not work that way. It was over.

He was incapable of saying anything. It was as though he had died with her. And he still could not believe it. She had died in front of him and he still managed to think that she was only asleep. She was going to regain her strength, because it had been a very rough day, and when she was ready, she would wake up. He kissed her dusty cheek one last time, his lips leaving a pale mark on her skin.

Foreman reappeared. House nodded feebly at him and, a few seconds later, two orderlies wheeled her to the morgue, far away from him. He watched her leave without a word.

The booth on which he was sitting sank to his right. Foreman gave him his phone back. House did not react, so he buried it in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"I'll call her family," he said, lifting a huge weight off his boss' shoulders.

Foreman did not know if he could touch House to comfort him. He usually was not fond of physical contact, and now that he had lost Cuddy... He tried laying a compassionate hand on his shoulder. No reaction.

"There's no way to prevent a fat embolism. Even if you'd done this in an OR, you couldn't have saved her."

He certainly did not want to listen to this. He had tried to save his patient and he had fucked up and it was Cuddy. He was so angry at himself that he wanted to punch a wall, and yet so devastated and annihilated that he could not find the strength or willpower to move. House rose suddenly and nearly collapsed, his thigh barely supporting him. However, he found a way to get off the ambulance, the neurologist following him. He limped through the ER, knowing that a swarm of pitiful gazes were focused on him. He did not need it. He did not need to be pitied because he had cut off her leg and watched her die from his actions. The scraping noise of the rubber joints of the front doors sounded like a relief.

"You can't blame yourself for her death. This wasn't your fault."

"That's the point!" he yelled in the middle of the empty lobby, his words echoing gravely. "I did everything right, she died anyway."

He gripped the edge of the counter, on the verge of collapsing. His leg hurt like hell. _She died anyway_.

"You shouldn't be alone right now."

Foreman walked to him. House stood up distrustfully.

"I'm gonna give you a task as an employee," he snapped. "Get out of my way."

The neurologist hesitated. He could not leave him alone, although his boss seemed quite determined. He stood aside and let the diagnostician limp away.

He ended up paying for the cab ride, having considered it at length; it was not a good idea to send House home on his own, but it was still better than letting him _limp_ to his building, especially without his cane. Furthermore, it was not safe for a cripple to hobble down the streets in the middle of the night, notably in his current state. He was a wreck.

House opened his front door, forgot to lock it, forgot he had forgotten to lock it. He headed straight to the bathroom, as though on auto-pilot. He had no clue what he wanted at that moment, or what he was feeling, he only had one need – surprisingly enough, he was still capable of feeling a need for something.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his hand touching his wounded shoulder. His shirt was irreparably stained with his blood. That was okay, he owned many other shirts.

He glanced up. Just seeing himself made him want to throw up. He was a monster, a _murderer_. He had inflicted the worst pain possible to Cuddy, and it had not even helped to save her. He had _killed_ Cuddy.

She had a daughter, and they were just starting to give themselves a chance, and it was his own fault that he would never, ever, see her, touch her, talk to her again.

He saw her blood and her bones and she was screaming and her eyelids dropped.

Anger boiling in his veins, he furiously grabbed the mirror and smashed it carelessly into the tub, letting it break into smithereens.

Before him was the devil's den.

Two bottles of Vicodin, hidden in a hole dug into the wall. With a trembling hand, he took out the little orange tubes. He had missed the familiar and comforting sound of pills clinking. He sat on the floor, leaning his aching back against the bathtub. He had gotten clean for Cuddy, and he was getting back on drugs for her. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he'd hallucinate her again. With no hesitation, he uncapped one of the bottles. The gesture felt familiar, even after all this time. A white pill fell into his palm. He swallowed it and closed his eyes, allowing the drug to flow through his system. Maybe he needed Cuddy more than he needed drugs. He was sinking into cotton, allowing himself to be carried away by the poisoning wave. He felt as though he was out of his body, as though this damaged wreck weren't his anymore, and all he had left was his healing mind. He had missed the sensation, and it was painfully pleasant.

A singing voice tore him from his reverie.

"_And I've got Vicodin, do you wanna come over? I know it's a long drive from Malibu..._"

House knew this voice too well. Too bad, it was not the one he wanted to hear. He opened his eyes and his glance met a pair of pale, bare knees, before finding the two ends of a red scarf, which was wrapped around Amber's neck.

"_I've got a pocket full of pills and not one lover_. You don't seem very happy to see me," she observed with a sad pout. She sat across from him, crossed her legs and leaned against the wall. "Back on the pills? I thought you'd stay clean for at least a year. You're disappointing me."

"I don't want to see you," he growled in a low voice. "Fuck off."

"I'm in your head. I'm _you_. I can't leave," she sniggered. "Unless you behead yourself but that's another story."

"You're nothing more than a hallucination. You're my sick brain's puke," he spat. "I'm not interested."

"Am I blushing? If you're back on drugs, then something serious happened. Does it have something to do with Wilson?"

"Like I'm gonna tell you..." There, now he was talking to a hallucination, and he could not even help it. If that wasn't rock bottom...

"Okay, not Wilson then. But someone you care about," she thought aloud. "The list is short. Is it Cuddy?... I'm getting close, aren't I?"

If he could have, he would have strangled her; but she was already dead. So he contented himself with glaring at her.

"Definitely getting close," she laughed.

House tried to stand up. He was exhausted. Surely, he would be able to ignore her and sleep. He wasted his breath. His muscles promptly refused to support him and his stomach threatened to betray him. He felt tension behind his eyeballs and thought that his eyes were probably bloodshot.

"Come on, tell me!" she continued, as excited as a kid just about to unwrap a big present. "What have you done again?"

"Don't wanna talk."

"You can tell me anything," she insisted. "It's not like I'm going to tell anybody else since I can't leave your head."

"Last I checked, you weren't a shrink."

"Wilson tells me about his day every night, believe it's the best training I could wish for," she replied. "Let me help you!"

"You're of no help. You screw with my diagnoses, you want to kill everybody. Last time, you wanted to kill Chase!"

"No, _you_ did. Well, you wanted to kill him through a hallucination, but still, you did."

"And why would I want that?" he asked her with a hint of provocation.

"To want or not to want, that is the question."

Silence.

"I killed her."

"Chase? So tired you're getting your pronouns mixed up?"

He sighed. "I mean Cuddy."

House thought he had finally managed to shut her up, but then he remembered that hallucinations, and especially Amber, were particularly annoying.

"Okay. So you killed Cuddy. Do you kill people for a living? I mean, you killed me, too. Who's next?"

"I wasn't driving the bus. I didn't ask you to come pick me up. I had called Wilson."

"I wasn't drunk at five in the afternoon! How did she die? Bus crash? Wilson didn't pick you up so she kindly volunteered?"

"Fat embolism."

"Oh, let me think, I haven't actually been a doctor in so long... There are many possible causes for fat emboli... I need more data, how do you expect me to make a diagnosis with that?"

He sighed, "I cut her leg off."

"Just like that? Because it would be funny to have her look like you? Or because her legs are so gorgeous you wanted one for yourself?"

"Because she was going to die!" he shouted.

Yelling made him feel good. Great, even. He felt better, even though he was reduced to exorcise his pain with a dead woman. Still, it was better than nothing.

She shrugged. "You still tried to save her. It's not like you let her die of a disgusting gangrene. It was a gangrene, right?"

She offered him a half-sincere smile. She got off on torturing him, why would she suddenly comfort him? No – it was not her, it was his own sick brain! Amber stood up and leaned against the wall.

"Why don't you check your voice mail?" she asked, maybe a little too innocently.

Whereas he did not really want to, he searched through his pockets before he miraculously remembered where Foreman had put his phone, and dialled the number, although he knew exactly what to expect. There was a message, which had been saved four hours earlier; Lucas blabbering various insults to Lisa Cuddy. House slowly let rage invade him. This dumbass _dared_ insult her while she was dead. In an absolutely hateful gesture, he threw his phone against the wall, which broke into two pieces at the impact.

"Watch out, you could have hurt me," Amber whined.

"This little piece of shit..."

She grabbed her right ankle, folded her knee and brought her heel to her backside. She was perfectly balanced on her left leg.

"Would you love me too if I were like that? Like her?"

"No," he sighed. She wobbled. "I didn't... tell her I loved her. I didn't tell her anything..."

He felt tears rush up to his eyes and did not even try to hold them back. He missed Cuddy terribly. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to tell her what he had not dared to admit in front of her closed eyes. It would not be her _exactly_, but he'd have to settle for it.

"_And I'm feeling so bad, and so good, I don't know what to do..._"

He swallowed another pill and curled up on the floor.

His face drenched with tears and Amber's smooth voice lulling him to slumber, he fell asleep.

* * *

_Root of an Unfocus – Boris Berman_

House recognized the ER, although the room was bathed in a blinding white light, which dit not come from the neon lights, but stagnated like fog. The beds, the green curtains between them, the crash carts and so on were still there. And yet, it was deserted. Nobody was there. Not a single patient, not a single doctor or nurse. The only thing he could hear were distant, almost inhuman screams amongst the morbid silence. He noticed that his hands were covered with blood. The red liquid was dripping to the floor, creating a trail which disappeared behind a wall, as though he had just walked backwards.

He followed the bloody trail, which led up to the stairs. He climbed them up. Then he noticed that he did not need his cane. He was not even limping. He was holding his arms out as though he were carrying a body but he was incapable of moving his upper limbs, almost fascinated by his sullied hands.

The screams stopped when he reached the second floor. Pediatrics, operating rooms, intensive care unit, labs. Although he was wearing his leather jacket, House was freezing. The blood led him into one of the operating rooms. He pushed the door open with his elbows, as a scrubbed surgeon would. Below the powerful lights and in the middle of the room, was an operating table. Cuddy was lying there, entirely bare. The blood flowing from half her leg had pooled at the feet of the table, from which House's red trail emanated. Unafraid, House walked to her and, instinctively, covered her stump with his hands to stop the bleeding. He quickly realised that it was useless. The white fog was enhancing her own pallidity and she looked beautiful.

Although she was dead, she spoke up, "You promised me I'd live."

She opened her eyes. They were white. No iris, no pupil. White.

"You heard me scream, House."

He did not let go of her stump. He tried to apologize, to put together the words that were strolling across his brain and make a sentence or two with them, but he could not. He could not apologize for killing her. One did not apologize for such a thing.

"You gave up on me."

One paid the consequences.

He felt a strong burning sensation on his chest. His heartbeats became louder and louder, he even feared that his eardrums might burst. He glanced down and saw the Y-shaped cut on his torso, as if he were examined alive. He stared at his diaphragm pushing his rib cage upwards, his lungs inflating and deflating. He was losing all his blood but he was not worried about it. He could survive.

"Why, House?"

Cuddy's empty stare never left the scialytic lamps. Her corneas began to roast.

He had to wake up. Now.

* * *

_On The Nature Of Daylight – Max Richter_

House had the impression of falling. He woke up with a start, his back hit the tub, he leaned on the wrong thigh and toppled onto his stomach with a groan. He had experienced more agreeable awakenings in the past. His fist was trembling, gripping the orange bottle, which he uncapped with difficulty and swallowed a pill, allowing the pain to fade. His thigh had not ached that much in a year. If he were experiencing withdrawal symptoms already, he was going to have to find a way to restock his hydrocodone stash. If he tried forging Wilson's prescriptions, his friend would find out eventually and send him back to Mayfield. And House did not want to be cured; he wanted Cuddy.

His eyelids grew heavy, his mind misted up and his breathing slowed down. He was struggling to stay awake, he didn't want to experience another nightmare. In fact, he did want to dream, only awake – which was called hallucinating.

"Cuddy," he whimpered desperately.

"I'm here."

He opened his eyes and met her blue gaze. Cuddy was kneeling in front of him, clad in brand new pink scrubs, a sad smile stretching her lips. Her dark hair was gathered in a messy ponytail and her legs were intact. As though nothing had happened.

He tried to say her name but he choked on his own tears. He sat up, wrapped his arms around her and burst out sobbing. She whispered 'shhh' a few times and rocked him like a child.

"I'm here, House. It's okay."

"Missed you," he managed to utter.

He knew that she wasn't real and he was only embracing air. He wanted to be with her so much it felt all the more real. He could feel the fabric of her clothes in his hands, her hair tickling his nose, and her perfume was heady. And yet, it was only a dream.

He hugged her tighter and his shoulder jerked. Thanks to the drug, the area was numbed but he knew it was supposed to hurt.

Cuddy was slipping away. Afraid of losing her, he gripped her tighter and kept her close to him.

"We should re-bandage your shoulder," she explained calmly. "It's gonna get infected."

She stood up. House tried to imitate her, she rested her hand on his shoulder to convince him otherwise. His muscles were still too weak, anyway. He watched her rummage through his cupboards. He did not know if _he_ were doing that or if he only imagined it. It bugged him a little, but he knew that living with a dead woman was going to earn him a lot of doubts. And Cuddy was definitely worth it.

He attempted to remove his jacket in order to save some time. His arms were stiff. He growled with frustration. He could not even take off a damn garment!

"Don't bother, I'll do it," Cuddy told him in a soft voice.

He let his arms fall back to his sides. She knelt before him, seized the tails of his jacket and slid it off his arms gently, one after the other. It was rather chilly, which caused him to shiver. She then removed his shirt stained with dried blood, followed by the reddened piece of gauze. Cuddy placed another rectangle of the white fabric on his shoulder and fixed his bandage with surgical tape. She was absent-mindedly caressing his chest. House watched her fingers stroll across his skin. He was dreaming her so powerfully that her presence, albeit imaginary, was incredibly soothing. She kissed his sternum and rubbed her nose into the small heap of hair. Her hands rested on his shoulder blades and he embraced her back, his arms wrapping around her petite frame. He briefly thought that their bodies fitted perfectly together. It was as though their curves had been made to complete each other. His large arms were wrapped around her back, his hands nestled into the crook of her waist and the small of her back. It was perfect.

He knew that she was dead, that he had killed her after causing her the worst pain possible. He remembered it every time he laid his eyes on her. Even though he could not bear it, he liked to think that he had some extra time with her, so that they could enjoy what should have been lying ahead of them : endless happiness.

She took a small step back, stared into his eyes.

"I wanna kiss you," she said.

"Please."

She smiled, cupped his cheek tenderly and her lips touched his own. Although the idea of her kissing him was giving him much pleasure, he did not feel the heat of her mouth, and it was disturbing him, but he did not have a choice. He would get used to it.

They deepened their embrace. Their moans dying into each other's breath were not enough. Cuddy slipped down to his chin, her teeth only brushing his stubble. She nibbled the skin of his neck and coughed when she sensuously licked his Adam's apple.

"You're all dusty," she murmured, caressing his scalp. Little grey crumbs fell down to his collarbone while her fingers combed his hair. "And you're bloody... Here." Her finger drew a dark trail from the red stain on his shoulder to his navel. "You should take a shower."

"You just re-bandaged my shoulder."

"It's fine. We can always do it again."

Cuddy dropped a kiss to his lips. He observed her extract the pieces of mirror from the tub. She accidentally cut herself but did not bleed. She gathered the debris into her palms and threw them into the bin. House had noticed that she did not have a reflection.

Carefully, she undressed him entirely. He feared that his scar would disgust her, but it was a silly thought. She only existed in his imagination. She did whatever his subconscious wished her to do. If he did not want her to be disgusted, then she would not be disgusted. It made sense.

Apparently, his subconscious also wanted her to bend over and kiss his scar. Which she did. She whispered to him that she was sorry she had caused him so much pain during all these years. His throat tightened and he was unable to answer anything.

She removed his shoes, massaged his tired feet for a while, pecked his toes. A pang of heartache hit him when he remembered that none of it was real; he was imagining everything.

She helped him stand up. He was bare in front of her. She let him lean on her shoulder so that he could get into the tub. He had no clue if he had actually thrown the pieces of glass away. If not, he was going to hurt himself pretty badly. He ran the risk. Successfully.

After kicking off her shoes, she turned on the tap and joined him, still dressed. The hot water on his skin made him tremble. Cuddy grabbed a soap and rubbed it tenderly on his chest, drawing large white trails, before taking care of the rest of his body. As she gently rubbed her soapy hands on his face, she kissed him tenderly.

He gazed at her. The water from the overhead nozzle was soaking them, but Cuddy was still dry, as though the droplets landed on her without a trace. Or maybe they were simply avoiding her.

He was cuddling her while she washed him, a smile on her face. He freed her hair. Her dark mane tumbled on her shoulders. He lifted her pink top and she raised her arms. She only got wet once he had removed her bra.

House wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled up against his chest, pressing her skin to his own for awhile, the water warming them. She eventually took a step back to rinse him correctly, her hands sliding down his arms, before she once again found herself where she belonged, right between his arms.

After a few minutes, they stepped out of the tub, kissing madly. Cuddy turned around to get an old, worn out towel from one of his cupboards, House dropping a swarm of kisses to the back of her neck. He desperately needed physical contact with her. She was his rock, as well as the fruit of his misery. She dried him thoroughly, though avoiding to rub the rough material against his skin. The towel was lying on the floor in no time. The diagnostician grabbed the back of her head gently and brought her lips closer to his own. He kissed her again, thinking that he'd never grow tired of it. Cuddy clung to his neck, moaning against his mouth. Her pelvis ground against his. House grabbed her backside forcefully. She replied by biting his lip. He invited her to wrap her legs around his waist, and she left his mouth aside for a moment so that she could lean onto his shoulder. He held her solidly, pressing her breasts against his chest. He took her to his bedroom, his lips only brushing hers. He had always dreamt to hold her like that. When he'd fantasise about her, he'd always imagine that he was strong enough to carry her to his bed, which he promised himself to make _theirs_. Now that she did not weigh a single gram – since she did not exist anymore – he could do it easily.

This single thought almost caused them to lose their balance. Cuddy hugged him tighter and laughed softly. He tightened his embrace as well and limped into the bedroom, which was bathed in warm sunrays. He laid her delicately on the bed; anticipating, she arched in a more than sultry gesture, lifting her chest towards him. She offered him a provocative gaze, her eyes gleaming with desire as they plunged into his own. He joined her more than willingly, swooping down on his prey to capture her lips. The aforesaid prey surrounded his neck with her slender hands, keeping him as close to him as possible.

House rested a hand on her breast, and did not feel her heart beat and it was okay.

Kutner, standing at the feet of the bed, announced his usual comment, "Too bad it isn't true."

**END**

* * *

_I__ am so sorry. __I hope you guys aren't too disappointed :/_

_Cuddy wasn't supposed to die. Bombshells unfortunately aired while I was writing the end of the story. I had to vent all of my anger, frustration, sadness, on something, and this something turned out to be the story I had been writing._

_Having gotten over Bombshells (a little. Sort of.) I kinda want to change the ending, but death is pretty definitive, right? Although I'm quite satisfied that they'll still be togethah forevah!_

_Thank you for reading :) _


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